Precious Things
by HoVis
Summary: Mr Wonka has never been happier. But sometimes, happiness has a habit of straying...
1. Chapter One: Of Magic and Family

**A/N:** Hello everyone! I have finally given into the urge to write this story. I really don't know where it is going and I can't promise anything... the end may be quite a hike away! This first chapter is just me 'testing the waters', as it were; if you feel I've got the characters right and like the style then I'll continue. Have fun!

**Disclaimer:** Hmm, who _does_ own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? Is it Roald Dahl's family, or Warner Bro's? Well, it definitely isn't me, anyway! Now get on and enjoy the story!

**Prologue**

Magic is a very strange thing. It comes in all shapes and sizes, but the oddest thing about it is that we rarely recognise it for what it is. Magic, you see, is not about witches or wizards, or bangs and explosions. What it is – what it really is – is what a person can achieve if they only believe, and what a person can survive if they are loved enough.

Willy Wonka had captured, in the creation of his chocolate factory, the first kind of magic. And through this sort of magic he had discovered a most wonderful thing: a child, a good, loving child who would care for his factory when he was gone. To Willy Wonka, the future was rosy.

But sometimes things happen that we do not expect, and it was at this point that Willy Wonka discovered the second kind of magic, and surmounted the insurmountable armed with a single weapon: the love of a child.

This, my friends, is magic.

**Chapter One**

Ah, the Chocolate River did look fine today. Not too much froth, but just enough to make the chocolate nice and light when it hardened...

And the candy bushes! Weren't they coming along fine? They'd need a slight trim soon, though, couldn't have them getting out of hand...

Mr Wonka sighed with satisfaction as he gazed out across the Chocolate Room, his sugar-cane held primly before him. Oh, how he loved his chocolate factory!

Charlie loved it as well, Mr Wonka thought quietly, as figures began to stir inside the little house on the other side of the river. A smile twitched at his lips for a moment and had anyone been close enough they would have seen a tiny spark alight in his eyes.

"Oh, the cleverness of me." He murmured, before the smile exploded into a huge grin. He suddenly let out a huge laugh, and set off down to the path to the house at a speedy trot. As he crossed the river he bent down and picked a piece of swudge, sniffed it and nodded in apparent satisfaction.

As he reached the little house by the river he slowed, and rapped smartly on the door with his red and white-topped cane. The door was opened almost immediately and Mr Wonka looked down into a pair of wide, excited brown eyes.

"Hiya Charlie." He grinned, albeit slightly uneasily. Whilst he adored Charlie, he still found that he was more comfortable with his own company than anyone else's. But perhaps he can be forgiven for this; it takes longer than two short months to change the habits of almost two decades.

"Mr Wonka!" Charlie exclaimed, returning the smile. Mr Wonka studied the boy for a moment; he was certainly looking healthier, his cheeks fuller and his eyes brighter, since having come to live in the factory. Once more, he congratulated himself on his own genius. As we can tell, Willy Wonka possessed a certain streak of arrogance, and it was on full-blast today. But, as Charlie was soon to learn, it was not without cause.

"Hey, Charlie! Would you believe it, I was up in the Inventing Room last night and just like _that - _" he snapped his fingers "it came to me!" He stepped into the Bucket's house, removing his top hat as he did so.

"What did, Mr Wonka?" Charlie asked, just as Mr Wonka had wanted him to. The chocolatier smiled a mysterious smile, and he tapped the side of his nose with a purple latex-clad finger.

"Ah... wouldn't you like to know." He said, but Charlie gave him his best wide-eyed look and he crumpled. "Aww, you're no fun, y'know that?" Mr Wonka shook his head. "Anyway... y'know the chewing-gum meal that turned all the Oompa-Loompas into blueberries?" Charlie nodded, but felt he had to add something.

"And Violet Beuregarde as well." Mr Wonka gave him a blank look.

"Who?" He asked, sounding genuinely perplexed. Charlie sighed.

"She was the girl who was always..." He shook his head. "Never mind. Anyway, the chewing-gum meal...?" Everyone in the house, even the old grandparents, looked up. Mr Wonka continued to smile mysteriously, clearly relishing the hold he had on his audience.

"Ah... well, you see, the thing is..." He trailed off, looking uncertain. "What were we talking about, again?" Charlie, by now well-used to Mr Wonka's absent-mindedness, sighed. It wasn't that Mr Wonka was particularly forgetful; just that he had so many thoughts rushing around inside his head that he sometimes lost track of them all.

"The chewing-gum meal?" Charlie prompted once more. Mr Wonka's face lit up, and Charlie knew that something incredible was coming.

"Ah, yes! Well, y'know how all the Oompa-Loompas who tried it turned, uh..."

"Blue?" Offered Grandpa George, slightly meanly. Mr Wonka ignored him.

"Yes, well..." He turned towards the open door and whistled through his teeth. Almost at once an Oompa Loompa came bounding through the door. Mr Wonka surveyed the little man proudly.

"Well, _he_ isn't blue, is he?" He said. Charlie grinned. Mr Wonka was right – the Oompa Loompa was notably lacking in blueness.

"How did you do it?" He asked. Mr Wonka's smile slipped, just slightly.

"Ah, nowthat's the thing... I'm not _entirely_ sure..." Grandpa George snorted; he had never quite forgiven Mr Wonka for his initial refusal in allowing Charlie to bring his family into the factory.

"And he calls himself a _genius_..." He muttered, but once again Mr Wonka deigned to ignore him, and when he glanced back down at Charlie the grin was once more in place.

"Hey, but me and Charlie can find out today! How about that, Charlie?" But the boy looked down at his feet and shrugged sadly.

"I can't, Mr Wonka. I've got school today." It was obvious from his tone that he regretted this fact very much, and Grandpa Joe, noticing this, stepped in quickly.

"Cheer up. I'm sure what you learn at school will stand you in good stead when you inherit the factory!" He said bracingly as they sat down at the table. "Isn't that right, Mr Wonka?"

"Eh?" Mr Wonka looked rather surprised at being spoken to and Charlie suspected he had just been having one of his flashbacks. Grandpa Joe frowned slightly.

"Well, surely it isn't the Oompa Loompas who keep the accounts for the factory?" Mr Wonka gave him an incredulous look.

"You think I bother with things as boring and as money and math?" He asked, giggling slightly. "No way!"

Quite surprisingly, it was Grandpa George who spoke out in support of Mr Wonka's words.

"Hear hear." He said gruffly, and seven pairs of astounded eyes lookedround at him. Even Grandma Georgina looked shocked – though she probably thought they were talking about the price of butter.

"I beg your pardon, Pops?" Mr Bucket asked, his morning newspaper forgotten. Grandpa George harrumphed slightly at the unexpected attention before speaking.

"Well," He said, not looking up, "who _would_ bother about money in a place like this? It's hardly as if there's any risk of the factory going bankrupt, is there?" Then, rather grudgingly, he said: "_Everyone_ likes Wonka chocolate." He then fell silent, the grumpy look on his face only matched in intensity by the smug grin on Mr Wonka's.

But it was shy Mr Bucket who had the last word.

"Well, Charlie has to have his education."

And that was the end of that!

888

As we can see, life in the chocolate factory was fine, with breakfast talk being nothing more serious than the latest advancements in 'chewing-gum technology', as Grandma Josephine had dubbed it, and the most serious disagreement being over the silly matter of schooling.

But change had a habit of making itself known at the most awkward of times, and so it did in this case. But let us leave them be for a little while longer; if we do not warn them of what the future holds then their wonderland will remain bright, if only for a few more weeks. Let them be happy awhile...

888

**A/N:** I was very brave and used the term 'math' rather than 'maths'. Gotta be true to the character, eh? Anyway, please tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter Two: Life Begins at Forty!

**A/N:** Firstly, a thousand thanks to my reviewers. You are wonderful, really. And I was amazed when I checked my stats and saw that this story had 122 hits! Wow! Anyway, a few responses to my reviewers:

Valerie Phoenixfire: I'm very glad you like it!

Quill in Hand: I'm afraid something VERY bad is going to happen. I'm afraid I just can't help it!

IDOL HANDS: Did you get the whole Peter Pan reference, then? Anyway, many thanks!

Maleficent Angel: Thanks! Yeah, I love Grandpa George as well... he's turned out to be featuring quite a bit in this chapter, actually! I think maybe he reminds Mr Wonka of his own father... anyway, I love your current story 'Circus of Life'. Yay for fluffiness! By the way, your review gave me the idea of how to shape this story, so thanks! I loved the crystal ball metaphor.

The-Serious-Padfoot: What I meant is that in England we say 'maths', but because Mr Wonka seems to be American I had to be faithful... sigh! Anyway, thanks for reviewing!

PucktoFaerie: Many thanks! Is the pen-name is a reference to A Midsummer Night's Dream?

So now... on with the story!

**Chapter Two**

That night at dinner the Buckets and Mr Wonka had a very curious conversation. Charlie wasn't sure how it had happened, but round and about the talk turned to that of family. Mr Wonka had promptly cast his eyes downwards and didn't say a word until a well-meaning Mrs Bucket turned to him and smiled.

"Have you seen your father lately, Mr Wonka?" The chocolatier almost choked on his peas.

"Uh... no, not since..." He trailed away, looking uncertain. Grandpa George, who had had a bad day, snapped:

"Then you're a fool, boy."

Mr Wonka looked up quickly, his eyes wide and slightly hurt. Mr Bucket looked shocked.

"Pops!" He admonished, but Grandpa George just snorted.

"Well, he is. Family's important, boy; didn't anyone ever tell you that? It be a damn fool, then, who pushes them away." Charlie gazed at his grandfather sadly. He hated it when anyone spoke out against Mr Wonka, especially when it was one of his own family.

"Yeah." Mr Wonka said, very quietly. "I guess so." But he seemed to be talking to himself more than anyone else.

888

The next day at breakfast the Bucket family were disturbed by a most surprising sound. The Oompa Loompas were singing, but it was not their usual rhythmic, self-composed music. No, they were singing: 'Happy Birthday'.

The mystery was soon solved when Mr Wonka walked in, his cheeks slightly redder than usual. Charlie grinned.

"You should have told us it was your birthday, Mr Wonka!" He exclaimed, and Mr Wonka shot him a terrified look, and muttered something about not wanting a fuss. Then Charlie posed a most disagreeable question. "So how old are you?"

Mr Wonka gave an uneasy grin and threw his coat over the back of a chair, but was saved responding by Grandma Georgina.

"Oh, I remember the birthday parties, when I was a girl..." She smiled vaguely at them, her gaze distant and lost in memories of times past. Charlie sometimes thought she and Mr Wonka had a lot in common. He was not, however,to be deterred from his line of questioning.

"So how old are you?" He asked again, sharing a slight grin with his father as Mr Wonka pretended not to hear him. Mrs Bucket smiled kindly at the chocolatier and saved him from answering as she crossed the room carrying a frying pan.

"Bacon and eggs, Mr Wonka?" She asked, and he nodded hesitantly, still looking like a naughty school boy who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Charlie, meanwhile, was getting exasperated.

"Oh, come on, Mr Wonka, you can't be _that_ old..."

"I'm forty today." Mr Wonka snapped, not at all his normal cheery self. His face fell as he surveyed his plate of food. "I mean, that's_ old!_ And who wants to be old, Charlie?" And he sighed.

Grandpa George, who was eighty-one that October, was most insulted by that comment.

"Stupid boy." He said, glaring at Mr Wonka from across the table. "You're a bloody spring chicken, Wonka, compared to us old ones." But Mr Wonka clearly had some pride left, for he studiously ignored the old man.

No more words were exchanged between the two for several days, and Mr Wonka's birthday passed largely without celebration, though Mrs Bucket did insist upon baking him a cake – a chocolate cake, of course.

888

The problem was, Mr Wonka thought one day as he stirred one of his many creations in the Inventing Room, is that you never really know what's happening until it does actually happen. Take one of his inventions, for example – there had been no logical thought process behind any of his ideas, no warnings at all. They just _happened_, in one big burst of creativeness.

But sometimes, he mused, he could see when an invention was going wrong and take steps to amend that... but not before some poor Oompa Loompa had fallen prey to some incredible and ludicrous candy fate.

You see, something was worrying Mr Wonka, the genius chocolatier, that did not usually worry him. For you see, he had never been ill, and had always taken his health for granted. Oh, he had caught the 'flu a few times, and been laid up with a cold once or twice, but he had never been really, frighteningly _ill_.

But now he found himself wondering if he really was as _fine_ as he told himself he was every morning as he looked in the mirror. He had been losing weight, which he really shouldn't have done considering Mrs Bucket's lovely food, and he found himself getting rather more short of breath than he once might have done when rushing around the factory with Charlie. And he was finding that he was much more forgetful about things than he used to be. Why, just yesterday he almost forgot to add the milk to the chocolate river!

Ah well, he thought to himself, shaking his head. It was probably just old age catching up with him... but then again, was that really the most comforting of thoughts?

888

**A/N:** Please tell me what you think... are they all still in character?


	3. Chapter Three: Plan? What Plan?

**A/N:** Hello again! Just a few responses to my wonderful reviewers:

PucktoFaerie: Thanks for the advice. I hope Grandma Georgina is suitably 'random' enough this chapter...

Quill in Hand: Can't tell you if there'll be any character deaths, I'm afraid, that would sort of ruin the suspense, wouldn't it? And what do you mean 'over the hill'? Poor Mr Wonka would be quite offended if he heard you say that...

boogle: Many thanks, dear!

Maleficent Angel: Hey, I'm sure you could do a much better job of his birthday than I could! And exactly when is he going to work up the guts in 'Circus of Life' to tell Rosanna how he feels? Poor Mr Wonka...

The Lady of Light: Hmm, serious head inflation going on here. Stop it, I won't be able to fit through the door!

And now... on with the story!

**Chapter Three**

Charlie Bucket, being a very ordinary child, did not notice anything amiss with Mr Wonka until his mother brought the subject up one night after dinner. Mr Wonka had left, claiming he needed to test his newest invention – sugar puff space hoppers. Charlie had at first been disappointed that he hadn't been invited along, but any such thoughts rushed from his mind as his mother said:

"You know, I don't think Mr Wonka's very well at all. What do you think, James?" James was Mr Bucket's first name. He frowned.

"I'm not sure. I wouldn't like to say." He glanced over at his son, clearly worried as to how Charlie would react to their conversation. And sure enough, the boy was sitting there wide-eyed, hanging on to their every word, an expression of utmost dismay upon his face.

"I must admit he's been looking rather pale recently." Grandma Josephine said primly, drawing a snort from Grandpa George.

"The boy's always pale. Whey-faced young thing..." Grandpa George, the second-eldest of the grandparents, called everyone under sixty 'boy'.

"Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet..." Grandma Georgina sang. "Eating some curds and whey..." Grandpa George allowed himself a small smile.

"That's right, dear." He said loudly. Grandma Georgina shot him an alarmed look.

"I'm not deaf, you know!" She said, wide-eyed. Charlie smiled: he loved all four of his grandparents very much, but his Grandma Georgina was particularly dear to him. She was, as Mr Wonka had once put it 'special'. Grandpa George had then gone on to mutter that if Georgina was 'special' then Mr Wonka was 'extra special'.

"And he's been getting thinner, I'm sure of it." Mrs Bucket said, ignoring the exchange and biting her thumbnail anxiously. Now Charlie spoke up.

"But Mum," he said, "surely if there was something wrong Mr Wonka would tell us?"

Mrs Bucket sighed, smiling gently at her son.

"Well, yes Charlie, you'd think so... but sometimes when adults are worried about something then they don't like to tell anyone else, because then they can pretend it will all go away."

Charlie contemplated this for a moment before looking up at his family. Every one of those faces was smiling and sympathetic.

"But... but Mr Wonka isn't like a normal adult!" He said quietly, looking around and hoping to see agreement in their faces, but saw only concern. Silently, he thought that as soon as he got the chance he would ask Mr Wonka about it... and then his worries would surely be dispelled.

888

Strangely enough, however, it was not Charlie who eventually confronted Mr Wonka over his failing health. It was, in fact, Grandpa George.

Both Grandpa George and Mr Wonka had been wandering about in the Chocolate Room, and Grandpa George, spying the tall top hat in one of the bushes, had crept up on the hapless chocolatier.

"So, Wonka. What's wrong with you?" He had asked, bluntly, at which poor Mr Wonka had almost fallen out of his bush. After standing up and brushing his coat down, he had given Grandpa George a most affronted look and said haughtily:

"I don't know what you're taking about." Grandpa George had snorted, a thing he enjoyed doing very much.

"Oh, yes, boy?" He'd said. "You may be able to fool Charlie with that, but I've been around a lot longer than he has, and I tell you, Wonka, you're a fool and you're a liar. So what's going on?" Mr Wonka stared at Grandpa George for a moment. It is quite possible that no-one had ever spoken to him with such open frankness before. Eventually, he sighed, and shrugged.

"I... don't really know." He said in a small voice. Honesty, it must be said, is always the best policy around someone like Grandpa George.

"Aye." Grandpa George said eventually. "But when you do, boy... you do know that your family will always be here for you to tell, don't you?" Mr Wonka held his gaze for a long moment, before nodding awkwardly. Then, wordlessly, the two turned and began to walk back to the house by the river.

"Oh, and boy?" Grandpa George spoke up suddenly. Mr Wonka looked up in surprise.

"Yes?"

"This - " he waggled a finger between the two of them "never happened. Alright?"

Mr Wonka nodded. Even he wasn't silly enough to disagree with Grandpa George.

888

The conversation with Grandpa George had highlighted for Mr Wonka a great many things. And it was for this reason that, one sunny afternoon in July, he was to be seen slipping out of the gates of his factory and into the world beyond.

I cannot tell you what Mr Wonka got up to whilst outside the factory gates, but I can tell you this; when he returned to the factory that evening he hurried not to the Bucket's house but to his own, secret part of the factory where he sat down at his desk and pondered.

As he sat there, his hand began to fiddle, almost of its own accord, with a pencil and a scrap of paper lying before him on the tabletop. Due to his great dislike of paperwork, Mr Wonka's desk was piled high with tax forms and the suchlike dating back to 1985, when he had first opened his chocolate shop on Cherry Street.

Slowly he put the pencil to the paper and began to scribble, still staring absent-mindedly out of the window. After a while he looked down, and was as surprised as anyone to see that he had written himself a note.

"Well well... what have I got to say to myself?" He murmured, picking up the scrap of paper and holding it close to his eyes. His sight over the last few months had been becoming increasingly blurry, but he would never get reading glasses – they were the sort of thing old people wore and would ruin his image entirely.

He squinted, and at last managed to make out the words scrawled across the paper. This is what it said:

_Show Charlie factory._

Mr Wonka nodded briefly, a faint smirk of satisfaction crossing his face. He'd always known it, deep down... even his subconscious self was a genius!

888

Charlie was the first up that morning, and as he peered out of the window into the Chocolate Room he grinned, for he caught a glimpse of a top hat behind one of the many bushes. He crept downstairs, careful not wake his sleeping parents or grandparents, and slipped out of the house.

He hurried across the river and towards the bushes, pausing for just a moment to sample a small, sweet, plum-like creation that he and Mr Wonka had cultivated together. He stopped in his tracks, frowning slightly.

"Needs a bit more juice..." Charlie was about to continue walking when a thought occurred to him – for a moment there, he had sounded just like Mr Wonka.

"Good morning, Charlie!" It was Mr Wonka, who just at that moment had materialised by his shoulder. Charlie almost leapt a foot in the air.

"Mr Wonka!" He exclaimed, certain he had not heard the chocolatier walk up to him. The man had the rather disconcerting habit of suddenly appearing just when he was least expected.

Mr Wonka suddenly paused and smiled down at Charlie, a thoughtful expression in his eyes.

"Say, Charlie. How d'you fancy taking a tour of the factory today?" Charlie looked up in surprise.

"You already have. In February - " He started to say, but Mr Wonka cut him off with an impatient wave of a hand.

"Yes, yes, I know I showed you and those naughty little children round in February." He smiled, his eyes sparkling, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. "But Charlie... there's so much more of the factory to see. So, so much more."

Charlie gazed up at Mr Wonka with eyes as wide as lollipops. An adult might have wondered why Mr Wonka suddenly felt the need to show Charlie the entire factory, but Charlie both trusted and adored the eccentric little man with his candy-cane stick and beautiful chocolate factory. And he was hardly going to object to seeing every single wonder in that amazing factory. Would you?

888

**A/N:** So there you go! Please tell me what you think.


	4. Chapter Four: Unwelcome Post

**A/N:** Hello everybody! Just a few responses to my lovely reviewers:

Maleficent Angel: Careful with that quote... you know what happened to Oliver after he said it! Many thanks. Chapter Sixteen of Circus of Life was fantastic, by the way.

Quill in Hand: I delight in making my readers nervous. I'm mean like that!

The Lady of Light: Many thanks. More of the same 'familiar' style just for you!

pohatufan1: I think you're getting ahead of me a bit there! Thanks for your review.

boogle: Thankyou for the thankyou for the thankyou. Does that make sense? Probably not. I've clearly been spending too much time writing Mr Wonka!

PucktoFaerie: Thanks. I return the salute!

whitestorm11: Okay! Here it is!

Good luck, my dears! And enjoy!

**Chapter Four**

Mr Wonka had played his part that day remarkably well. So well, in fact, that when Charlie went to bed that night he was far too busy thinking about chocolate to pay any heed to his earlier worries about Mr Wonka's wellbeing.

Mr Wonka had, true to his promise, shown Charlie things beyond his wildest dreams. First they had visited the Oompa Loompa village, where Charlie had been bestowed a great honour by the chief: the gift of a caoco bean. Charlie had accepted graciously, but as soon as they were out of sight he had put it down the chute for re-processing as wages for the Oompa Loompas. Mr Wonka had caught his eye at this point and winked.

"There's recycling for you! Now, hurry up, no time to dawdle..." And they were off again; Mr Wonka sliding down banisters and skipping up stairs like there was no tomorrow.

And so they had continued round the factory, at one point taking a break from the tour to 'test' the sugar-puff space hoppers (the only flaw was that they were too bouncy: at one point Charlie went so high Mr Wonka had to pull him down by his ankles), and then lunching in the Chocolate-Sunday room. When Charlie had mentioned to Mr Wonka the spelling mistake on the door, Mr Wonka had said incredulously: "There's another way to spell it?" Charlie, wisely, changed the subject.

There had been a few worrying moments, like when Charlie mentioned one of his school-friends and Mr Wonka had gone into a flashback half-way up a mining tower on the geyser field, but apart from that the day had gone very smoothly.

There are some things that Charlie saw that I cannot speak of: I fear that if I did Mr Wonka would be quite annoyed with me for revealing his greatest secrets. But rest assured that all that Charlie saw that day was incredible, magical and delectable.

As for Wonka, well, he of course immensely enjoyed the day. As you may have noticed, Mr Wonka possessed a slightly arrogant streak, and there is nothing more flattering to a chocolatier's ego than having a young boy like Charlie exclaim in amazement at his creations.

He was, however, brought back to earth with something of a bump the next day, when he found on his desk a letter he had been dreading. I cannot tell you of Mr Wonka's thoughts as he opened it, since a writer is only allowed the privilege of seeing into a given character's mind once a chapter, but a watchful Oompa Loompa told me that whatever colour was left in Wonka's face immediately drained away as he scanned the words. He then pocketed the letter, and with a determined expression on his face headed down to the Bucket's house for breakfast.

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Charlie bounded out of bed as soon as he heard the knock on the door. His mother was already up, cooking the breakfast, but he hurried to the door nonetheless.

"Mr Wonka!" He cried eagerly as he threw open the door. Mr Wonka stepped in, smiling slightly at the bright-eyed expression on Charlie's face.

"Gee, how can you be so _awake?_ I'd have thought that after yesterday you'd be all tired out!" He exclaimed cheerfully, and Charlie grinned.

"Not really." He said, as Mr Wonka seated himself beside Grandma Georgina, who smiled sweetly up at him. Charlie was too busy trying to hold back his excitement to notice the rather cold stare that Grandma George shot the chocolatier or the cold pallor of Mr Wonka's cheeks.

Mr Wonka paused for a moment and looked hard at Charlie, his head cocked to one side, a strange little smile playing on his lips.

"I guess you've got lots of ideas to tell me after yesterday." He said quietly, before nodding at Charlie. "Let's hear them."

Charlie took a deep breath, and around the table the parents and grandparents exchanged smiling glances. Mr Wonka's eyes were fixed upon Charlie.

"Well," he said, "I was thinking about the pens that you can suck in lessons..." And so it went on, and Charlie was still sitting there talking to Mr Wonka with a barely-touched plate of food in front of him when everyone else had finished eating, and he only stopped when his mother told him it was time to go to school.

Mr Wonka watched him go out of the door with a slightly distant look in his eyes.

"He's a good boy." He said softly, almost to himself. "I'm glad he's here." Mr and Mrs Bucket exchanged glances.

"He's glad to be here. We all are." Mr Bucket said eventually, and Mr Wonka gave him his familiar thoughtful stare. There was something in his eyes that only an adult would notice, and it was something that Mr Bucket didn't like at all.

Mr Wonka, not seeming to notice the fact that everyone in the tiny shack was staring at him, took out the letter and fiddled with it absently. Eventually, he said:

"I'll be leaving the factory for a while soon." Everyone stared at him, apart from Grandma Georgina, who was humming the tune of 'Oh Susanna'. Grandpa George broke the silence.

"For how long?" He asked. Mr Wonka looked up suddenly, and the two shared a look that was far from childlike. The chocolatier lowered his eyes before answering.

"I'm not sure." He said, swallowing nervously. "A week, maybe two." His shoulders slumped suddenly, and the façade of boisterous energy that he always wore around Charlie slipped away. Grandma Georgina stopped humming; perhaps even she sensed that this was a moment for respectful silence.

None of the adults asked Mr Wonka why he was leaving. In their hearts, and with that terrible wisdom that we gain when we enter adulthood, they already knew.

888

The day of the 1st of August dawned bright and sunny. Far too sunny, in Mr Wonka's opinion. He was by nature a usually optimistic person, but the thought of leaving his beloved factory to go to... _that_ place robbed him of any sense of cheer.

Still, he had to appear cheerful, if only for Charlie's sake. He had eventually made up a story about going off to collect new tastes for candy, like he had done in Loompaland, but he had the strangest sense that old Grandpa George had not for one minute believed his tale. The old man had the most uncanny ability of being able to see right through him...

Charlie had started his school holidays a week or so ago, Wonka remembered dimly. The poor boy had been quite distraught at his going away... funny thing, that...

His musings were interrupted by a sudden tug on his trouser-leg by a serious-looking Oompa Loompa. Mr Wonka knelt down, and inclined his head in a bow. The Oompa Loompa returned the bow, his little eyes narrowed in suspicion. Mr Wonka forced a grin.

"You make sure everyone does what Charlie says, alright?" He told the Oompa Loompa. The tiny man nodded in assurance, then turned to leave. Mr Wonka watched him disappear out of the Chocolate Room, then turned back to the river.

The river did look fine today... how he loved his chocolate factory. And how would miss it.

Mr Wonka turned away from the river, blinking hard. There was a funny feeling in his throat that he could only remember feeling once before, when he had returned to find his father as a child and seen the house gone...

He turned and left the Chocolate Room. He had said goodbye to his factory, but he couldn't say goodbye to Charlie.

888

**A/N:** I'm not exactly happy with this chapter, but it gets the story to where I want it to be. Please tell me what you think!


	5. Chapter Five: That Postman Again

**A/N:** Hello everybody! This is it: the chapter that explains everything. I think from now on the 'mood' of this story will be a little different; Wonka without the factory is like a chocolate cornetto without the chocolate bit at the bottom! Anyway, just a few responses to my lovely, wonderful, fantastic reviewers:

Quill in Hand: Hmm, I'm afraid the depressing bit isn't over just yet. But hopefully it will soon take a slightly lighter tone, despite the situation Mr Wonka finds himself in. And it'll all be down to Charlie... anyway, what am I doing _telling_ you what'll happen? Get on and read it! Have fun!

Maleficent Angel: You know, you clever people are very annoying. And, um, I read in your profile that you teach science, so I apologise in advance if next chapter my facts get a bit, um, unrealistic. Thanks for the review!

Drazzles: I'm a little worried by your review. But don't worry, puppy dog eyes always do the trick, so here is chapter five!

sharylsward: How it ends? Agh, that may be a while away! Many thanks for your review.

whitestorm11: Many thanks. I am, as always, glad to spread cheer!

The Lady of Light: Well, with a review like that I can hardly _not_ continue! Many thanks; I hope you enjoy this next chapter, despite the notable absence of a certain chocolatier. (I felt a bit weird writing the first line you quoted, since at fourteen I can hardly call myself an 'adult', but there you go!)

boogle: Your wish is my command!

Well, go on, read – and enjoy, mon petit copains!

**Chapter Five**

It had been three days since Mr Wonka had gone away, and Charlie was feeling blue. He was, in fact, literally blue – he had got in the way of a machine that squirted out blue liquid and it had stained a patch of skin on his hand. The Oompa Loompas had said it would come out in the wash...

The factory seemed so much quieter without Mr Wonka around. Even the Chocolate River seemed to gurgle with a little less merriment. The Oompa Loompas were silent, and not a single snatch of song came from their lips. They hadn't even touched the Buttergin since Mr Wonka had left, which made Charlie suspect they knew more than they let on about the reason for Mr Wonka's absence.

Charlie was sure Mr Wonka had been lying when he had said he was going away to research new tastes for candy. This was because Mr Wonka, like any self-respecting child, was a terrible liar. When he had told Charlie the reason for his leaving he had addressed the floor rather than Charlie himself, and his hands had darted around like a pair of guilty birds.

Then what on earth could be the matter? Charlie was a bright boy for his age, but that didn't mean he could claim to understand the antics of adults. Chocolate, now _that_ was something he could understand.

It felt very strange, being in the factory without Mr Wonka. He knew that whilst Mr Wonka was away the factory was _his_ to explore – and look after. That, as far as Charlie was concerned, was a very frightening thought. He couldn't let Mr Wonka down...

An Oompa Loompa suddenly tugged at his leg, jerking him from his reverie. Charlie looked down, to see that the little man was holding out an envelope – an envelope addressed to _him_.

Charlie took it wordlessly and watched as the Oompa Loompa scurried away over the river and out of sight. He glanced down at the envelope, knowing as soon as he looked at it who it was from, for there was a gold, elegant 'W' in the right-hand corner where a stamp would normally be. The address read thus:

_Charlie Bucket_

_The House_

_The Chocolate Room_

_Charlie's Chocolate Factory_

_Cherry Lane_

Charlie smiled slightly at this, before hesitantly flipping the envelope over and tearing it open. He pulled out a piece of paper, and grinned as the scent of melting chocolate puffed out to greet him. The handwriting on the page, however, was not Mr Wonka's usual extravagant script. If anything, it was rather shaky.

His hands trembling, he lifted the letter up to his eyes.

_Dearest Charlie,_ it read,

_I do hope you are getting on alright at the factory. Not that I need to do so, as I am sure you will be getting along just fine. You are a good boy, you know that, don't you, Charlie?_

_I must admit, Charlie, that I was not exactly telling the truth when I said I was going exploring. _

"Hah!" Charlie exclaimed, but the triumphant grin faded as he continued to read.

_The truth is, I fear that you may be inheriting the factory a little sooner than expected. I cannot give you the whys and wherefores, as they are silly little details and would only confuse you anyway. I have, however, sent a letter to your parents in explanation. I believe they will know better than I how to tell you what it is I need to say._

_Godspeed, Charlie Bucket. Watch out for the whangdoodles!_

_Your friend and fellow chocolatier,_

_Willy Wonka._

Charlie sat down, the letter going limp in his hands. It is a rare and terrible thing for the bottom to fall out of a child's world, but fall it had for Charlie Bucket when he read that letter.

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The message sent to Charlie's parents was of a much different tone. It was not, in fact, addressed to Mr or Mrs Bucket at all – the name on the envelope was Grandpa George's.

The old man had grunted in surprise when he had been handed the letter, but Mrs Bucket was quick to notice the grave expression that came over his face.

"Oh, dear." He muttered to himself. "Oh dear, dear me." He was holding in his hand two pieces of paper – one printed and one handwritten.

Mr Bucket turned to his father in concern, laying down the newspaper he had been reading.

"What is it, Pops?" Then he caught sight of the large golden 'W' on the envelope. "Is that from Mr Wonka?" His father nodded. Charlie was outside at that moment, opening a similar envelope.

"Indeed it is." He said solemnly. Then, wordlessly, he handed Mr Bucket the printed sheet. Mr Bucket's face slowly drained of colour as he read that fateful letter – the very same letter that had pre-empted Mr Wonka's sudden departure.

"Oh dear." He said, swallowing.

"That's what I said." Grandpa George responded emotionlessly, as Mrs Bucket lent over her husband's shoulder and read the letter. Grandma Josephine frowned as her daughter gasped and clasped at her heart.

"What is it, girl? Come on, don't leave us old ones out... let me and Joe see."

"Joe and _I_." Grandpa Joe corrected, but he too looked grave as he read the letter. When he had finished he sighed. "What on earth will we tell Charlie?"

"The truth." His daughter responded instantly, but Grandpa George coughed. They all looked at him. He coughed once more and held up the second sheet.

"The boy – Wonka – wants us to keep it a secret from Charlie – I don't know, tell him in a kinder way. He certainly doesn't want to see Charlie – or, rather, for Charlie to see _him_." He did his best to sound nonchalant, but it was obvious to the others, especially the old ones, that he was worried. If truth be told, grumpy old Grandpa George had become somewhat attached to the eccentric chocolatier over the past few months.

"Poor Mr Wonka." Mrs Bucket said softly, picking up the printed letter once more. "This is why he's been looking so awful for the past few weeks. What are we to do?"

Mr Bucket sighed, taking the second letter from Grandpa George and raising his eyebrows as he read it. He shook his head.

"Listen to this: _I do not want you or Charlie to come to see me as it may upset Charlie and this would be detrimental to his candy-making..._ Goodness, does everything that man do revolve around candy?" He smiled slightly, but sobered at the expression on his father's face.

"Don't be a fool, boy. Wonka is only saying that because he doesn't know what else to say." He turned his gaze towards Mrs Bucket. "And as for what we are to do, surely that's obvious?" He scowled, but there was no harshness behind it. "We take Charlie to Mr Wonka. The man loves the boy, and I can't say I blame him. It's the only thing we have in common. Charlie loves Mr Wonka as well – as far as the boy's concerned Mr Wonka is his best friend. And when something like this happens, friends should stick together."

No one spoke. They didn't need to. Grandpa George, who had spent most of his life grumpily and quietly getting by, had just put into words the most important thing of all.

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Now would seem the pertinent time to enlighten the reader, who has until this point been rather 'out-of-the-loop'. As we have already said, Mr Wonka's health was not what it should have been. Illness, after conveniently avoiding him for forty years, had decided to strike with all its cruelty.

You may already have guessed that Mr Wonka had not, as he told Charlie, left the factory to go 'exploring'. He was, in fact, at the moment at which we left the Bucket household, in hospital. But let us not pity Mr Wonka; due to a mix up on the wards he had been placed in a bed in the children's ward, and what better to support the fainting spirit of adulthood than the laughter and smiles of childhood?

The first letter, which you will now have surmised to come from the hospital, detailed his diagnosis. The first time he left the factory had been for a doctor's appointment – a thing he had put off for far too long. The diagnosis had been delivered by letter as he had requested it, to avoid leaving the factory again. But it was a thing he could not avoid: the letter stated in no uncertain terms that, if he held his own life in any value at all, he would come to the hospital on the date appointed.

The second letter, written by Mr Wonka himself, had explained all this to Grandpa George. Why he had chosen the old grumbler we shall never know, but perhaps the fondness Grandpa George had come to have for Mr Wonka was mutual. Whatever the reason, the letter told the old man that he was not, under any circumstances, to let Charlie come to the hospital to visit him. Mr Wonka, in his desperate desire to protect Charlie from pain, was acting more grown-up than he ever had in his life.

And so we have it. What is to happen next? Well, for that you must wait, my friends. But while you do, spare a thought for the bravery of Mr Wonka. He needed Charlie more than ever: but simply to spare him a few tears he forbade his presence. Surely that is worthy of the title 'valour'.

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**A/N:** Well, there you go. Please tell me what you think!


	6. Chapter Six: The Nasty Snozzwanger

**A/N:** Hello! Just a few responses to my wonderful reviewers:

Maleficent Angel: Hmm, suspense is a very good thing. Thanks for the review!

The Lady of Light: Ah, you see, I'm not so mean as to keep my readers in the dark forever! Many thanks.

Drazzles: This chapter is a bit lighter, but next chapter it might get a bit sad. Many thanks for your review, and of course I noticed you!

Quill in Hand: Sorry! I'm a very naughty person.

Mirriam Q Webster: You'll find out what exactly is wrong with Mr Wonka in this chapter – sort of! Thanks for your lovely review.

PucktoFaerie: You'll have to read on and find out...

Well, enjoy!

**Chapter Six**

Now, you will recall that we last saw Mr Wonka leaving the factory to go to that most dreadful place – the hospital. Now, you and I know that, for the most part, hospitals are in fact very _good_ places, were life is restored far more often than taken away. But Mr Wonka, who was not exactly _experienced_ in such matters, saw them as scary, uncomfortable places that you went into and never came out of. No, he did not like hospitals at all...

"What's your name?" A childish voice broke through his reverie. He blinked, cocking his head to one side as he looked down into the face of a young girl. He smiled slightly.

"Willy." He told her, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and leaning down to look her straight in the eye. The girl pouted slightly. You will recall that Mr Wonka had been placed in the children's ward.

"It's silly to shorten your name like that. So I'll call you William." Mr Wonka wasn't entirely sure whether to be flattered or offended by this announcement. He failed to tell the girl that his name wasn't even William anyway. After all, what's a syllable between friends?

"What's _your_ name?" He asked, his eyes travelling over the plaster cast on her arm and the nasty bruise on her forehead. The girl smiled and curtseyed prettily.

"Elaina." She told him. His eyes twinkled teasingly.

"Then I'll call you Ellie." He said. Ellie pouted once more, but made no protest. "How old are you?" He asked next, unconsciously following the unwritten rules of engagement between two children.

"Seven. You?" The girl answered, and Mr Wonka bit his lip. Hesitantly, he leaned forward, his eyes serious.

"Look... it's gotta be a secret, okay?" The girl smiled eagerly. She loved secrets. They made her feel very special.

"Okay." She replied, and Mr Wonka leaned over and whispered in her ear. He pulled back, and she nodded seriously. Mr Wonka leaned forward, frowning at her cast.

"What happened?" He asked in concern, and the girl shrugged.

"Car crash. I had to stay in overnight because I had concussion. My foster parents are coming to pick me up tonight. You?"

Mr Wonka paused for a moment, his hand resting lightly on his chin. The nurse had yet to manage to part him from his purple gloves. So how to put it? He scarcely understood it himself...

He smiled gently at the girl.

"A nasty snozzwanger laid an egg in my brain." He shrugged. "The doctors have got to take it out." The girl giggled at his words.

"What's a snozzwanger?" She asked, her eyes bright. She loved to listen to stories.

Mr Wonka cocked his head to one side, before patting the mattress by his side.

"Sit up here and I'll tell you. Snozzwangers, you see, live in a terrible place called Loompaland..."

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When Charlie re-entered the Bucket house it was eerily silent. He looked around at the kind faces of his parents and grandparents. The letter Mr Wonka had sent him hung limply in his hand.

"Mr Wonka..." It was all he needed to say. His mother stepped over to him, and gently took him in her arms. She bent down to his level, smiling sadly.

"Come on, Charlie." She told him, squeezing his arms. "It's time we all went to visit Mr Wonka."

Charlie stared into his mother's comforting eyes, and nodded slowly. He understood, at least in part. But he needed an adult to tell him exactly what was going on.

"Where – where is he?" He asked, biting his lip. He feared the answer. His mother smiled once more, but it was a damp, glistening-eyed smile.

"He's in hospital, Charlie." She said, saying the words as softly and as gently as she could. Her son jerked away slightly, but she held him tight. "It's alright." She told him, despite all she knew about the foolishness of giving a child false hope. But the hope... the hope _was_ there.

"Come on then." Grandpa George's gruff voice interrupted the moment of silence. "Better not keep Wonka waiting." The old man was up and looked desperate to get going. Charlie looked up at his grandfather and smiled.

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By the time Mr Wonka finished his story there was a large group of youngsters congregated round him. The young ones were staring at him with awe in their eyes, and a few teens had even edged over to listen. When the story finished, they all looked quite disappointed; Mr Wonka's crazy tale had, but for a moment, alleviated the pain and tension of the hospital ward.

"Another one, William, please!" Little Elaina whined, her eyes wide and pleading. Mr Wonka grinned, and was about to start upon the tale of the time he'd met a Leviathan, but he was cut off by the entry of a young, kindly looking nurse.

"Time for pre-op, Mr Wonka." She smiled down at the children. "Scoot, you lot!" Most of the children left, grumbling slightly, but two remained: little Elaina and one older girl, who looked at Mr Wonka with pity in her eyes.

"Seeya then, William!" Elaina chirruped, and Mr Wonka nodded at her, suddenly feeling very cold and lost for words. She skipped away, and the older girl stepped forward, looking awkward. I will tell you now that this girl lost her father two years before, and that his situation had been very similar to Mr Wonka's.

"Good luck." She said softly, knowing what the 'snozzwanger egg' meant. She turned and left, leaving a quite bemused Mr Wonka behind.

"Come on then." The nurse said, indicating the door. She would let the patient walk to pre-op, knowing well that a short walk did wonders to calm the nerves of an anxious patient. As they walked, she chatted amiably.

"You know, I'm very grateful to you for indulging the kids like that. They're mostly quite depressed, just having someone tell them a story does wonder for their morale." Mr Wonka eyed her suspiciously. There had been a lot of long words there.

"It was nothing." He mumbled, deciding it had been a compliment. "Just a story..."

They continued the walk in silence, and when the time came for the anaesthetic to be administered, Mr Wonka drifted away without a fuss. Asleep, he seemed no more an adult that little Elaina herself.

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Charlie and his family arrived at the hospital two hours later. Once there, they had to wait for a further two before a doctor would even come to talk to them. The doctor had been of the tall, officious sort, and Charlie had drawn no comfort from his long, frightening words at all.

But at last, almost five hours after Mr Wonka had finished telling his story to the children up in the ward, a nurse approached them with the words:

"You can come and see your friend now." She spoke especially to Charlie, and he smiled up at her. "But he's still... asleep."

As they walked, she turned back to Charlie and said gently:

"You mustn't be alarmed if he doesn't look like he normally would. The tubes and things are just there to help."

Charlie nodded, swallowing his fear because he did not want to look like a coward in front of this pretty nurse. But nonetheless, he hesitated before stepping through the door of the post-op ward.

Mr Wonka was lying, asleep, on a bed in the corner of the room, and at first Charlie did not recognise him. He was asleep, and pale even by his standards. There was a shaved section of hair on the left side of his head, and a bandage bound against it. Like the nurse had warned, there were countless tubes running in and out of his wrists.

But then Charlie looked down at Mr Wonka's hands, and grinned. The gloves were still there. It was definitely his Mr Wonka.

"Mr Wonka?" He whispered, standing on tip-toe to see over the side of the bed. The man on the bed gave no response, and Charlie stepped back, deflated. He had thought that as soon as he was there Mr Wonka would wake up and everything would get back to normal. But, sadly, the world does not operate on the logic of a child. If it did, then there would be no finer place in existence.

"He'll wake up eventually, Charlie." Mr Bucket said, squeezing the boy's shoulder. Charlie shrugged bravely. He turned to go, but then he sensed the gaze of a sharp pair of eyes on his back. He turned around, to see Mr Wonka smiling softly down at him.

"Heya, kiddo." He said.

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**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please tell me what you think. I know the details of the hospital might be a bit out, as I have fortunately never seen inside many hospitals, and I hope I haven't offended anyone.


	7. Chapter Seven: When the Cat Purrs

**A/N:** Greetings, one and all! I'm back, after a shamefully long break... I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Special thanks to **reibish** for his/her encouragement, even if I did respond to it a tad belatedly. Thanks to **all** of my reviewers for their patience!

**Chapter Seven**

So, we left poor Mr Wonka lying in a post-operation hospital bed, with little Charlie once more by his side. And oh, the happiness of those few short moments, the relief of the adults and the trembling joy of the two children, Charlie and Mr Wonka. And if only we could freeze time, and hold them there forever, in a moment where there was no pain or suffering. But already clouds are gathering on the horizon for Mr Wonka and the Bucket family.

After a few minutes of this joyful reunion, the tall, cold doctor who had offered no comfort to the terrified Charlie came over, frowning seriously. He sniffed disapprovingly at the sigh of a little boy cluttering up _his_ hospital.

"If you could excuse me." He pushed past Charlie, fiddling with one of the tubes running from Mr Wonka's arm. "I need to talk with the patient... _in private_."

The older Buckets found his meaning all too clear, and Mrs Bucket gently steered Charlie away. Mr Wonka made to wave with his right hand, but it seemed to Charlie that it was weighted down with all the tubes running in at his wrist. Mr Wonka grinned, weakly.

"Seeya. Now scoot, Charlie!" But the boy looked agonised, and understandably, the poor child.

"I'll see you soon, won't I, Mr Wonka?" The man lying on the hospital bed paused for a moment, before letting a huge grin split across his face. No one except perhaps old Grandpa George sensed the worry behind the chocolatier's cheerful mask.

"Sure thing. I - "

"_Ex_cuse me." The doctor cut him off sternly, and as the Bucket family shuffled towards the door Grandpa George snorted and said:

"Young nincompoop!" Mr Wonka, lying in his hospital bed, silently agreed. Wouldn't you?

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I think this next scene shows, without a doubt, just how brave Mr Wonka was for Charlie that day. The doctor had, "in private", given him some most terrible news, but as he was wheeled out into the corridor to the waiting Charlie he grinned cheerfully. I cannot tell you what that news was, at least not ahead of Mr Wonka telling Charlie, but I can assure you that you or I would struggle to put a smile on top of it.

Charlie, who by rights should have been fast asleep, bounded to his feet at the sight of his precious chocolatier.

"Mr Wonka!" He exclaimed.

"Heya." The chocolatier said in a somewhat tired voice for her had, after all, endured a rather trying day. It was made all the worse by the fact that the doctor had finally managed to confiscate his purple gloves. Charlie did not notice, but Grandpa George did – that the right side of Mr Wonka's face had gone oddly slack, and that his right arm hung limp over the side of the bed.

"You better now?" Charlie asked eagerly. "Will you be coming home tonight?" Charlie, with all the optimism of a boy his age, was certain that one could simply just get up after an operation like Mr Wonka's and leave the hospital as right as rain. Ah, for the rose-tinted glasses of childhood!

Mr Wonka's smile faded at this, and his expression suddenly became very solemn. He heart had sunk a few more notches lower than it already was at the reminder of his precious chocolate factory – a place it seemed he might not be seeing for a very long time. He reached over with his left hand to grasp Charlie's own, and it was then that Charlie noticed the stiffness of his other side.

"I don't think I will, Charlie." He said gently. His poor chocolate river! He hoped the Oompa-Loompas would remember to stir it... "Something happened, the doctor said, during the..." he grimaced. And what about the Inventing Room? Was it to lie, untouched, until he returned? "_operation_, he said it was a – what is it you do to a cat to make it purr?"

"A stroke." Charlie said automatically, his mouth dry. He knew what a stroke was. They happened to old people and sometimes they died. I fear that even now we cannot step in and tell him not worry, that Mr Wonka will be alright, for that is a thing that not even I, the reporter of this sad tale, can promise.

"Yeah, one of those." Mr Wonka said hastily, alarmed by the pasty colour that Charlie's face had suddenly paled to. "It did some odd things, Charlie, I can't move my right arm, least not very well, see - ?" Mr Wonka took a breath, something he often forgot to do with so many words tumbling out at once. He'd never been so talkative before Charlie had come to the factory. "And it means I have to go to this place, a special hospital, for physi – uh – some long word, I can't remember..."

"Physiotherapy." Grandpa George supplied tonelessly, not looking at Mr Wonka. In truth, he could not stand to. It seemed unfair, the old grouch thought, that someone young and hopeful like Mr Wonka should be struck by such an affliction when he, a man twice his age, should still be able to stand and walk and run. "To regain movement in the limbs."

"That." Mr Wonka, not seeming to notice the old man's expression, nodded gratefully to Grandpa George. "And I'll be away for a while, and I'll get better, and -" his face crumpled suddenly and he whispered; "Oh, Charlie. I don't want to go." He giggled. "I, Mr Wonka, who has faced deadly whangdoodles and the minuses of minusland, scared of a few doctors! It's silly..." He was babbling now, which as you may know is a thing that some children do when they are frightened. If you keep talking, maybe you can keep from thinking about whatever it is that scares you.

Charlie caught Mr Wonka's fluttering hand, and squeezed it hard. "Yes." He said. He was terribly scared and confused, but stuck his chin out and put on a brave face, for Mr Wonka's sake. "I know."

Mr Wonka was not the only child who had grown up that night in the hospital.

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**A/N:** Please tell me what you think! Still up to standard?


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